With 25% of Timor’s population aged 15 to 29, competition for jobs is
stiff. Meanwhile, the soaring popularity of martial arts threatens conflict in
the future, writes Matt Crook

Wednesday December 17th 2008

For the past six years Jose da Silva, 20, has lived in a small youth camp in
Dili. His mother is dead and his ­father works in Indonesia: "I consider
the people here as my family now," he says. He goes to high school three
days a week and hopes to go to university. "My ambition is to be a
pilot."

Timor-Leste celebrated National Youth Day last month at the same time as it
commemorated the Santa Cruz Massacre, in which at least 250 Timorese
demonstrators were shot dead by Indonesian soldiers in 1991. Representatives
from 26 countries and young people from Timor gathered in Dili for a conference.

East Timor became independent in 2002, and the young – from 15 to 29 –
are growing up with the country. Four years of economic growth was destroyed
when opposing factions in the Timorese military clashed in 2006, leading to
violence in Dili and the displacement of up to 150,000 people. While the country
is being rebuilt, young people face domestic violence, alcohol abuse, gangs,
unemployment, poor education, poverty and an official language – Portuguese
– that few ­actually speak.

"I want to continue to study," Da Silva says, "but the problem
is that without my parents here I have ­nobody to support me." With 25% of
Timor’s 1-million-plus population aged 15 to 29, competition for jobs is
stiff. Romanto Luis, 25, left his home district to complete his education in
Dili and then stayed there in the hope of finding work. He studied engineering
and graduated from university in 2006. "When I finished studying I looked
for a job, but I couldn’t find any. I want to work as a mechanic."

Timor has one of the fastest-growing populations on earth, at an annual 5%.
Each year, Timor’s formal sector creates 400 jobs but up to 15,000 young
Timorese enter the labour market. According to the 2004 census, unemployment in
Dili was 23%, rising to 42% among those aged 20-24.

Most Timorese make a living outside the oil sector, and yet oil and gas
revenues account for 95% of the government’s income. (Consumer prices have
increased 13% since 2006.) The country has oil wealth that will swell to $4bn
this year, yet the young must wait until their government can effectively spend
its Petroleum Fund, which was established to provide a permanent income for
government budgets and ensure money for future generations. Prime Minister
Xanana Gusmao said: "Our challenge now is not lack of resources, but lack
of capacity to use our existing resources."

The secretary of state for youth and sport, Miguel Manetulu, said initiatives
include sending youths to work in Korea, and recruitment drives for the oil
sector. "The problem is that our young people do not have sufficient
qualifications to compete in many jobs. It is the responsibility of the
government to provide more training."

Fewer than 50% of all children reach grade six in school, only about 12%
complete secondary education and 20% reach adulthood with no formal education.
Many of those who finish some formal education are ill-equipped to enter the
workforce, since Timor’s tertiary-education institutions are unregulated and
are producing people with high expectations but little capacity to work.

Many youth groups took part in the 2006 crisis and the unemployed young are
now attracted to martial arts groups. Manetulu said the government must show
"how to make these groups develop themselves" so that they "can
contribute to the development of the country". Augusto Soares works at
World Vision, focusing on youth development and peace building. "[Young
people] turn to gangs because they feel like the group can protect them if they
face problems. The gangs have stopped fighting so much since March, but in 2007
and 2006 there was massive conflict ­between the martial arts groups."

The biggest gangs, such as Seven-Seven and PSHT, have anything up to 50,000
members, and about 65% of youths in Timor are affiliated with a group.
Negotiations between rival groups and increased police presence around Dili
recently have helped keep the peace.

Aniceto Neves is part of the HAK Association, which works on social
programmes. In September 2007, HAK brought together leaders from nine of Timor’s
18 main martial arts groups for a peace-building programme. He says these
organisations "have potential to be transformed into peace-building agents
rather than considered as conflict potential".

Ozorio Leque is leader of the Colimau 2000 martial arts group, established in
1987 as a response to the Timorese struggle for independence. He took part in
the violence of 2006, but now says: "We realise that violence brings more
suffering to the people, so we are showing our willingness to be unified to find
common ground to build our nation."

With little to keep them occupied, many young people in Timor ­develop
destructive habits. Soares says World Vision sees alcohol as "a big
problem". Local wine, brandy and whisky are readily available, unregulated
and cheap and the government has been slow to react to the problem.

For some, the realities of home life can drive them into isolation.
"There is so much domestic violence because our grandmothers and
grandfathers used violence to discipline our parents, and our parents continue
to do the same. Most of the parents aren’t mature enough to have children so
when they have problems they are directed at the children," says Soares.

Language is another barrier. The government chose Portuguese as the official
language despite most people’s mother tongues being either Tetun or Bahasa.
Tetun is a simple language limited by its lack of grammar and tenses. Only about
10% of people in Timor speak Portuguese.

The government has access to a huge pot of money, but most Timorese people
won’t feel its benefit until the public service sector is better equipped to
cope with spending that money for the good of the country.

Chiquito da Costa, 29, lives in Dili in a simple brick house with a tin roof.
He and his wife wonder what kind of world their 11-month-old daughter will see
in the future. "Our country is still new. It is just beginning to grow
up," he says.